


An Illicit Act of Voyeurism

by stargategeek



Series: Lady Sansa and the Gamekeeper [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bath in a Basin, F/M, Hiding in the Bushes, Man-Ogling, Prequel, Sansa’s thirsty, Sexual Re-awakening, Voyeurism, cock washing, more of that sweet sweet sexy gardening, ooh they want it and they don’t even know it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 13:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: “I shouldn’t be here,” she thought.“No you shouldn’t.”(Prequel to Lady Sansa’s Lover)





	An Illicit Act of Voyeurism

“I shouldn’t be here,” she thought.

_“No you shouldn’t.”_

Hidden in a leafy bramble like some scared mouse - no! A skittish fox. There was no hint of mousiness in her as she wetted her lips much like a fox wets his chops whilst staring at a plump chicken.  
_Oh, now that that is entirely inappropriate._ She silently reprimanded herself.

But it was true. As she was coming down the path to her Gamekeeper’s cottage she had caught sight of the pale back of him and immediately crouched down into the thicket. Her heart quickening in her breast.

It was the shock really. It had been quite some time since she had seen a man in any state of undress - not since her wedding night - and her eyes delighted to see such a lean, finely muscled, naked torso. Despite all sense of propriety telling her to _leave now!_

Oh, the trousers on him, they caught her eye. The suspenders dangling at his hips, and the ties loose, and how they slipped ever so slowly down, revealing the dips and curves of his backside. His rump. _Lord, she should not be thinking of him in this way. She is the Lady of the Manor, and he, the Gamekeeper._

His delicious back curved in a splendid soft slope as he bent into the basin filled with soapy rain water. It rested on a plank of hard wood, held up by two sawhorses, creating a makeshift table. A piece of mirrored glass was tacked on to the cottage wall before him. _Heavens Sansa, you are watching this man make his toilet! Have you no shame?_

Apparently she didn’t. Even though she could feel the heat of a blush warm her cheeks and flush her chest. Her breathing was a bit too thick, as though she were breathing in soup instead of air.

He tossed his head back, his hands working the soap and water through his hair, causing glistening droplets to fall from his nape down that tantalizing curve of spine to the base of his buttocks. Something within her shivered.

He was so lean, almost too lean, as though he were just recovering from a bout of illness - yet he was soft where he should be soft, and firm where he should be firm. She clasped her mouth to keep herself from giggling like a naughty school girl. _Shameless_!

Beside the basin he kept his kit; razor and shaving soap, a well-used bar for his lithe and tender body; a rag, and a worn towel. He selected the razor from the kit and dipped it into the water. He did not reach for the soap. With careful precision he trimmed his beard and moustache, creating straight, appealing lines around his jaw and upper lip. For a Gamekeeper, his appearance was exact, from the neatness of his hair style to the exactitude of his beard - yet what for? For the trees? For the wild flowers? What force on earth did he take so much care in his grooming for? _He must do it for himself,_ she thought.

As he leant forward to trim the underside of his chin, Sansa could see his face reflected in the little square of mirror. The dark, somewhat sad eyes, the handsome lines of his face. Maybe not the traditional idea of true English handsomeness. He lacked the right refinement and a certain clenched quality, a tightness found usually in the upper classes. No, he was composed yet with an almost lazy ease of manner, a looseness in his hips that he had to restrain to keep from appearing lewd. And all the precise grooming in the world couldn’t hide that hint of sadness, and the tinge of something even darker that lay beneath that.

He dropped the razor back into its place in his kit, and picked up the rag, soaking it thoroughly in the water and wringing it out before dragging it over his face and neck. He washed his face free of all the errant little hairs, and scrubbed the spots behind his ears and the back of his neck before dipping his hands back into the basin and splashing the water over his face again. Streams of water now, pouring down his back and bare chest. Sansa unknowingly wetted her lips again. He wrung out the rag and brought it under his arms, the movement causing his reflection in the mirror to shift - from his face to his collarbone.

Sansa gasped. Had she seen it right? Some sort of discolouration - a mark or a scar?

From where she was hidden she could not get a good view of it. _Perhaps it’s not something you’re meant to see._

Sansa ignored the voice in her head. She’d seen something, and now her curiosity trumped all precaution. She wanted to know. Needed to know.

He bent over the basin again and Sansa saw her opportunity. Another little cluster of trees and bramble only a few feet away that could afford her a better view of her gamekeeper and the mark that she had seen on his chest. Her logical brain screamed _ARE YOU INSANE?!_  
But there was a force more urgent, more potent within her that whispered _yeesssss, do it_.

On his next dive into the basin she took her chance, quickly and quietly crawling to the little sheltered spot amongst tall grass and a pair of leafy red weirwoods. She caused barely a rustle as she crept into place. If she stayed still she would not draw his attention. What would she do if she did?

As it was, he was preoccupied, running the wet rag over his chest and shoulders. Sansa could see him fully, trimmed face and all. The top of his head was donned with dark Irish curls - normally tamed by pomade - which was now wet and unruly like an inky little mop. His temples were crested with grey and white which betrayed his years - he must be older than Willas - though it was completely lost on his body. His skin looked impossibly pale and smooth - in the sun and soap gleaming like the pearlescent inner shell of an oyster. Except for one defect, which she now saw was, indeed, a scar. A long clear cut from collarbone to navel. Had he been a soldier in the war? Had he earned that in battle? Or had he been fighting something else entirely?

Because of the scar the hairs on his chest were rather sparse, but as he shifted into her view she saw a handsome dark trail leading from under his belly button, down the soft swell of his abdomen, before disappearing into the open flies of his trousers.

Sansa forced herself to look away in that moment. Perhaps she had gone too far. It was already a violation that she had spied the man during what was undoubtedly his bath - but to absorb him so intensely with her eyes, to steal glances of his most private form, and to think...such wicked little thoughts about where that trail led to. It was unseemly for a lady. Absolutely unseemly! And absolutely _delicious_.

When she looked back up her Gameskeeper had taken up his razor again. The shaving soap was laid as a frothy layer on the base of his throat to just under his meticulously kept beard. With a sure hand he brought the blade to the top of his collarbone and drew it over the skin in one smooth swipe. Sansa’s hand found its way to her lap, pressing against the warmth swarming inside her abdomen.

He repeated the motion of blade against skin in a direct line beside the first one. Every swipe removing the fine black hairs and leaving smooth, pale pink skin behind. His hands were so skilled and he looked at such ease with so dangerous an implement. One wrong move and he could nick an artery and die - but it was the danger that made it so alluring. Made him so alluring.

Hands so steady with a blade - _would they be so steady with me?_ Sansa shook her head clear of these dangerous thoughts. This man, her _husband’s_ gamekeeper, was a curiosity. Satisfied in one voyeuristic moment in the woods, that was all. That was all it could be. Despite the heaviness in her breasts and the swirling warmth in her gut.

The Gamekeeper leant forward and washed the remaining soap from his throat. The clinging watery vestiges slid down his bare chest, over the ridges of that beautifully daunting scar, across his pale white belly, and dripped into the open crotch of his trousers.

Hands clasped either side of his trouser flies, looking down as if debating whether or not to conceal himself again. Sansa’s fingers fluttered against the band of her skirt. Oh Lord, please. She was praying, but what for?

She had to restrain her gasp when he peeled the maw of his trousers open even further. The dark and pink base of him just visible under the course fabric. He took the rag from the basin and wrung it out with one hand as the other drew himself out.

A fire burned deep within Sansa. _Oh heavens_. There he was, a full view of him, out in the open. Her mouth had fallen open, and her breath sounded uncomfortably loud to her own ears. I’m sure if she stuck a finger to her lips she would find she was salivating. _A dog! She was no better than a hungry old dog!_

But it had been so long! So long since she had seen such a fine looking appendage of man. She hadn’t seen her own husbands in so long she’d forgotten what it looked like, what it had felt like inside her. And that phantom ache made its presence known to her now.

Her attention was rapt to him as he drew the wet cloth over his manhood. Semi-soft in his hand, but not uneager. As the palm with the cloth in it slid over the delicate pink skin of him, she saw the way his face relaxed. The lines around his mouth and the firm press of his lips giving way to a softening ease as he washed himself with long, lazy strokes. His eager member stiffened somewhat to ease his movement. The steadiness of his hand as he brought the cloth back and forth and swirled it over the head. He gave himself a short little tug, and his eyes fell closed, releasing a gruff little sigh as his mouth parted in momentary bliss.

The warmth in Sansa’s belly pooled lower. _Oh, I shouldn’t be here, she thought again, I shouldn’t be seeing this. I should go. I must go. I must preserve some sort of decency between us. If I don’t go now how will I ever be able to look him in the eye again. Now that I know. Now that I’ve seen him._

When she looked up again he had turned away, his manhood tucked back into his trousers and the ties done up. Already she missed the view. A cold, empty shiver ran through her.

His toilet over with, he dumped the leftover water into the grass and hung the rag out to dry.

She heard him whistle. “Lady!” he called.

Sansa crouched in fear, momentarily thinking she’d been spotted. Before she could panic though, a happy, little wolfhound came bounding through the brambles towards him.

“Where’d you run off to, eh?” he talked to the dog as if she were an impetuous child. The dog wagged her tail and rubbed herself against his legs, seeking his attention. He bent and affectionately scratched her behind the ears.

“Good girl, good girl,” he muttered, making the dog exceedingly happy. Again Sansa ached _. How ridiculous was she? Being jealous of a dog!_

The Gamekeeper went inside the cottage, the dog trailing happily after, affording Sansa her opportunity to escape - but as she moved to rise from her hiding spot, the dog, Lady, re-emerged from the open cottage door, her nose lifted in the air curiously. Sansa crouched back down, hoping that the slight rustling of leaves did not give away her position to the scrutinizing hound.

To her relief, the dog did not detect her - or at least, had decided not to investigate the trembling leaves and slight Chanel scented bramble. Sansa sucked in a breath to calm the spike of excitement that had quickened her breast.

What excuse could she have, as the Lady of the Manor, to be knees-buried in the forest floor of dead leaves and creeping brush, other than an illicit act of voyeurism.

_“Oh, I dropped my hat pin and it must have fallen somewhere in the bush!”_

_“But, my lady, you are not wearing a hat.”_

Sansa resisted the bubble of laughter as she could feel it spreading itself upon her lips.

“Hey!” Her Gameskeeper’s voice startled her once more. It was sharp, but still with that dark husky quality that had her once again thinking about his cock. Her cheeks stained crimson, she could feel the heat of it fighting against the brisk autumn air. He emerged from the cottage, still bare-chested, now with his hair combed and tamed with pomade. He still seemed a wild beast despite his grooming, an unbroken stallion in the need of a good hard riding.

 _Oh heavens! You must stop!_ She chided herself.

He swatted the dog playfully to get her attention, the dog’s curiosity waning in favour of her master’s full presence. The tail wagged, the tongue fell from her wide dog-smile. _Does he have this affect on all females?_ She wondered.

“Get inside,” he ushered the dog in with a sharp jut of his head and a tap to the dog’s hind quarters. The lady-dog happily scampered in, complying to his wishes. The Gameskeeper followed suit, pausing only at the door to give one appraising sweep of the area to ensure the hound had truly not seen something, then went inside, shutting the cottage door behind him.

Sansa wasted no time, disentangling herself from the craggy branches and clinging thistles. The lord really must be smiling upon her, she thought, allowing her this moment of pure, female curiosity to go on undetected. If she left now she could return to High Garden with the illusion that her dignity was still intact, despite the back of her mind already humming with the memory of her Gameskeeper’s body, and the glistening wet drops rolling down his perfectly arched back.

She would return to Willis in time for tea, and go back to the stifling world of propriety, and silks, and water colours that she very much - very probably - preferred. A moment of weakness in the forest was all this was. Like when one accidentally stumbled across wild animals rutting. A natural occurence to be pushed to the back of the mind. It should really mean nothing more than that, as minsicule as any trifle she and Willas laughed at over tea.

“ _You won’t believe what I stumbled upon in the woods today husband.”_

Sansa stopped herself with a curse. The glistening security of the upper path leading home falling at her feet. In all the excitement she’d almost forgotten her mission. There had been a reason she had come down this way. Willas was sure to ask after his inquiry over tea, it would not do for her to come up with nothing.

_“You were going for nearly an hour, what could you have possibly been up to.”_

_“Well, when I went to call upon the Gameskeeper he was bathing out of a bowl in the front yard, with his cock held in his fist, and it just didn’t seem the appropriate time.”_

Sansa cursed herself again, bending to clear the grass and see stains from her skirts. There was nothing to be done, she would have to go back.

She turned slowly, her whole body utterly filled with dread. She was sure the Gamekeeper would take one look at her beet red face and see the whole of it played in her eyes. The violation! The humiliation. She would never be able to live it down. Despite all this though, her body moved of its own accord, dragging her unwilling consciousness down the narrow path back to his cottage. Slow, heavy steps, like a funeral march to her inevitable demise at her Gamekeeper’s doorstep. Before she could raise her hand to knock the door suddenly fell away from her causing her to start and there he was, face to face with her.

 _Thank Christ, he’d put on a shirt._ It was her only saving grace that prevented her from swooning to the forest floor right then and there. He was shorter up close, in truth they were almost the same height, but he still managed to feel quite daunting - what with his dark gaze and nearly lewd poise of his hips. Sansa’s gaze averted immediately to the ground.

“Your ladyship?” that dark voice ghosted over her like the hand of fate itself.

“I’m so sorry if I’ve disturbed you!” she blurted out nervously.

He spluttered somewhat, stepping aside from the door jamb in a confused gesture.

“Will you come in?”

“Uh no!” she said too quickly. “I mean, I’ve only come to make a small inquiry on my husband’s behalf. I won’t take up too much of your time. You must be in the midst of your breakfast.”

She could hear the slight whistle of the kettle steaming away on the stove.

“Just boiling water for tea, if my lady wishes,” he said rather formally. It was ill-suited to his voice, she thought. Even despite his position something rang false in his voice with such a subservient tone.

“N-no...thank you, all the same,” she caught his intense grey gaze again and her stomach fluttered. We th her hand she tucked a stray strand of re hair behind her ear. She felt more than saw his slight shift in position. “I really must be getting back up to the house. My husband will be expecting me for tea.”

She had to get out of there, another moment under his scrutiny and she was sure to melt into a puddle at his feet. Her body wall already willing her back up the path to the safety of High Garden.

“What was it?” he asks. The gruffness of his voice made her quiver.

“What was what?“ she shot her gaze up to him, feeling as though he had caught her in a lie.

“This inquiry...for his lordship?”

Sansa cursed herself again. She’d nearly forgotten once more. It seemed so trivial now, after all that had transpired.

“Oh yes!” her brain stumbled to remember. “There is a rose in the garden that is yet to bloom. The last of the summer roses. We - that is, his lordship and I - would like to have it transferred over to the greenhouse.”

“Is that all you require, your ladyship?“

The way he said that made gooseflesh run up her arm.

“F-for now.”

“You shall have to show me where this bud is...to ensure I tend the right one.”

The thought of his hands conjured once again the sight of his tapered long fingers washing along his achingly beautiful cock.

Sansa swallowed heavily. “I can lead you to it’s location myself.”

He stepped close and suddenly her nostrils were full of the manly, clean scent of him. He smelt of rain water and mint.

“It’s always sad to see the young roses withering on their stems. Unblossomed. Unplucked. Just grown cold and locked inside themselves. It’s one of the saddest things in the world.

“I-I agree...”

“Roses should have a chance to reach their full splendor. Petals spread wide, and open, with dew collecting on their pistils.”It was as if his voice dropped another octave the more he spoke. “Nothing more beautiful in all the world.”

She felt his eyes on her like a multitude of hands, touching and caressing all of her there was to see, settling at her dull red hair, scooped up into a long plait on one side and pinned into scarf.

Sansa swallowed thickly again.

“I’ll see it tended to, your ladyship.”

“See that you do, Mister Baelish,” she tried to affect a Lady-of-the-Manor tone.

“If there’s anything else?“

Sansa shook her head, barely trusting herself to speak anymore, let alone stand.

“That will be all.”

He nodded his head firmly

The kettle whistled furiously from inside, and whatever spell he seemed to cast over her was broken by the sound of Lady barking at the loud constant _whuuuuuur._

Just like that, Lady Sansa seemed to come back to herself - just enough to give one last stiff nod of thanks and to turn herself foot by foot back on to the path. No further pleasantries needed, she had done her duty and she was no longer obligated to stay in his presence. His overwhelming, dark and warm and alive presence.

Though she could still feel his eyes on her, even as she made her way up to the the upper ridge.

“Careful, your ladyship!” he called after her. “You never know what may be lurking in these woods.”

Before she could turn around to ask him what he meant by that - her heart literally jumping into her mouth - he’d gone back inside to rejoin Lady and to continue with his tea.

Sansa managed to make it back to the garden path before her legs turned to jelly and she utterly, and incredibly satisfyingly collapsed.

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting the second part in a series y’all! Breaking new ground. This was a fun little dip from my usual writing style, and it was hella indulgent - because it would be to spend 3000 words describing someone wet without their clothes on :P
> 
> This is just another fun little romp in the woods in my D.H Lawrence Midsummer Night’s Dream universe. Hopefully it warms all of you up as we come to the end of summer ourselves.  
> Enjoy!


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